More Planes, Trains, And Automobiles
by DianaLecter
Summary: Lecter suffers the usual traveling difficulties in making it home for the holidays
1. -1-

More Planes, Trains, And Automobiles

Author: DianaLecter (mischalecter@hotmail.com)

Rating: PG-13

Timeline: After Hannibal movie – follows canon.  Following November.  

Summary:  Dr. Lecter experiences the usual travel difficulties in getting to Clarice.  Response to the 'Dark and Glossy Ragout' challenge on the Visionary website.

~~~

After everything they had gone through, every word, every discussion, every encounter, every incident of any sort, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was amazed that Clarice Starling could continue to surprise him.  Without any scorn, he never suspected in a *thousand* years that she would come to any change of mind without a stern talking to, perhaps enforced incarceration, or another tremulous deed performed by her precious FBI.  However, here he was, five months later, marveling at the proof of her liberation.    

The reports and allegations surrounding this matter had experienced a steady climb in the months following their encounter, surprising him with the outbreak of public interest.  It wasn't usual to maintain such a spotlight without developments in new information.  Without any provocation on either part, humanity's own sense for romance, especially tragic, epic tales refused to dwindle.

There were, of course, the snide comments of a morally corrupted society.  However, in following a series of online websites, chat logs, and message boards, Dr. Lecter was delightfully surprised to discover a respectful support of his now-notorious infatuation.

Though beyond this, it was the revelation within Clarice Starling herself that captured his full, stunned, undivided attention.  In the weeks following their departure, she not only severed all professional ties with the Bureau, but also publicly proclaimed her reasoning, screaming neglect that in no way implied a plea for sympathy.  Her techniques and resources never ceased to both amaze and amuse him.  Only she could declare, rightfully, her abuse without shaping it as a cry for empathy.  A variety of interviews on 60 Minutes, 20/20, the Today Show, and Barbara Walters were now on airing schedules across the country.

That, however, was not the best part.  In perusing the various magazines he encouraged her to contact him through, he found a peculiarly enchanting article that read, 

'To Hannah:  I refuse to let my home become my gallows.  Be weary of public statements.  The vultures are circling – A. A. Aaron.'

It sounded, of course, like a message directly from him, which would immediately discard any suspicion within the Bureau.  Clever girl.  Dr. Lecter understood her strategy and felt compelled to applaud, even if the technique was simple.  Simplicity, often, was the best cover for the darker and more complicated truth.  Of course, he didn't *know* it was at her hand. The Bureau very well could have placed it in an attempt to poke him out of hiding.  However, the message provoked him to watch her debut, even if it was his intention to do so in the first place. In the following days, he reviewed her television appearances, inspecting, waiting for whatever sign she was prepared to issue. 

Starling professionally neglected to break in any prior indication, or post-reference as her signal was made.  She was in animated speech, nodding and explaining her various scenarios concerning the FBI, stating bluntly, "I always felt the vultures were circling."

Article.  Connection.  Bingo.  

So here he was, prepared to fly across the country once more, eager to get there before the Thanksgiving holiday.  

In the months since their last meeting, Dr. Lecter made a comfortable residence in Seattle, far enough away to avoid attracting attention, close enough to disqualify as a plausible location, with all the elegance to suit his otherwise impossible standards.  Equipped with everything from fine dining to an exquisite symphony.  All the luxuries of an ideal home away from home.

Yet, despite this, Dr. Lecter experienced no regret in leaving.  Other trying issues were far too important.

By the time all was in preparation, he and Starling had traded several emails, never using real names, of course.  He advised her to purchase a cell phone and keep it with her at all times, in case he had the urge to call with updates on progression.  As if it was the most natural thing in the world, she obliged and issued her phone number, though he did not say when or if he would use it.  Currently, they were not questioning each other's motives; rather understanding the circumstantial events that threatened them both.

Getting out of Seattle was surprisingly the easiest part of the trip.  Dr. Lecter detested flying in large American metropolitan areas, but was learning rapidly to make exceptions.  The holidays only added to the maniacal rush.  He had reservations to change planes in Chicago, and from there, it was home free to Washington.  

All things considered, after all they had gone through together, every this and that, Dr. Lecter was both aggravated and oddly amused that the weather condition could restrict his plans.  It was so endearingly domestic that he couldn't help but laugh.  The plane scheduled to depart at six o'clock the evening of November 20 was indefinitely delayed.

Despite this situation, which like any other was not without its humor, Dr. Lecter was discouraged.  He debated phoning Starling to alert her of this newfound inconvenience, but decided it wasn't necessary until there was something to report.

Dejected, he retired to the lobby to await updates.  It was full of people, chatting idly, some complaining of their impossible situation.  Children screamed down the isles, some crying, some giggling, all causing an unnecessary ruckus.  A handful of delinquents were enjoying a dose of nicotine in the designated station, and disgruntled passengers were standing in line, awaiting a redirection or alternative options by the various staff.  

The scene was distasteful though tolerable.  Why was it that despite any situation, God managed to steal the last laugh?

Dr. Lecter would simply wait it out.  What else was there?  Conceding this momentary setback, he moved to take his seat.

An extremely overweight man assumed the chair across from him.  Dr. Lecter wasn't accustomed at gawking at the expense of others, and while gazing briefly in disbelief was hardly staring, he did scold himself to refrain from being rude.

He hadn't been settled for two minutes before the large man looked up and said, tone hefty and friendly, "Hiya!"

A lack of interest was visibly betrayed as Dr. Lecter looked up.  "Good evening," he countered politely.

"Some weather we're having, huh?"

"Yes…" agreed the doctor.  "Not very beneficial for travelers."

"Where you headed?"

He flinched at the lack of proper grammar, but declined to refer to it.  "Richmond," he invented spontaneously.  "Though I'm flying into Washington.  I had business to close in town.  My wife expects me for the holiday, you see."

The man nodded and smiled widely, as though granting his approval.  Though his intentions and general happy-go-lucky mood seemed authentic, Dr. Lecter couldn't help but find himself slightly annoyed.  "Ah, home for the holidays!" he roared.  "There's no place like it."  A moment's hesitation, then he lurched forward, extending a greasy hand.  "I'm Del Griffith," he greeted.  "Best shower-curtain ring salesman this side of the Mississippi."

Courteously, Dr. Lecter nodded and accepted the offered shake, grateful he was wearing gloves.  "Dr. Haller O'Brien," he greeted.

"Ah!  Pleasure to meet you, Doc!"

If there was one thing in this world Dr. Lecter simply could not tolerate, it was being addressed as 'Doc.' Such reduced him to the likes of a cartoon rabbit, and *that* certainly would not do.

"Dr. O'Brien, if you will," he corrected subtly.

"Dr. O'Brien, Doc, Haller, Hal, Obbie, Obe, whatever you like!"

"Dr. O'Brien."

Del's eyes widened and he nodded, musing back thoughtfully.  "All right, all right.  I can take a hint.  Just tell me if I get to be too nosy.  Wouldn't want to bore you."

Other ordinary circumstances, Dr. Lecter would not have issued such bluntness on his true disposition.  While he was a prisoner in the dungeons, politeness, though truth, was essential to save himself from boredom.  In the public limelight, though, while he offhandedly in disguise, refraining from potential tear-jerking comments became indispensable.   

In this case, it was better for Del's self-esteem that the doctor decided to keep his mouth shut.  

"Well," he stated matter-of-factly, "I was going to indulge in some reading, to pass the time…"

"Ah.  Don't let me keep you."

Conversation ceased, and while noise and natural pollution pulsed around him, Dr. Lecter eased into Dante without much difficulty.  Having lived with the howls and wails of inmates and those truly disturbed by psychological issues, a few crying babies and assaulting body odors were easily dismissed.

He noticed immediately when Del stood, and while he hoped it was to relocate to another seat, he saw the abandoned luggage and concluded he was merely going in search of a drink.  A few minutes later, he sensed the man's contemptible scent returning, the hint of disaster carrying heavily in the air.  Thus, when a young child crashed into the man's leg, it was natural for Dr. Lecter to jump up in preservation of his fine clothing.  However, his book, tragically, was not spared.

If that was not enough, Del's annoyingly chirpy voice swooped in to save the day.  "Oh man!  I'm so sorry!  Little bugger came out of nowhere."

Dismally, Dr. Lecter eyed his book, picking it up from an unscathed corner with an arched brow.  "Hmmm…yes.  I see."

"Let me make it up to you.  Hotdog and a beer?"

This man was a stroke waiting to happen.  "No thank you."

"Hot dog, then?"

"Coffee?"

"No."

"Milk?"

"No."

"Tea?"

"No."

"Soda?"

"No."

"Lifesavers?"

"No."

"Slurpie?"

"No."

With a sheepish smile, Del gave up with a shrug and shook his head.  "Just let me know, I'm here!"  

Within time, the flight to Washington reopened, and Dr. Lecter jumped up, perhaps a bit too eagerly for even his tastes.  Much to his relief, Del was no longer stationed across from him.  Hopefully, without further ado, he would be on his way to see Starling, to put the past behind them, and start anew on the Puritan holiday.

The flight attendant that checked his ticket instructed him to sit in coach.  When he indicated he held a first class seat, she snidely remarked, "This is something you should have mentioned to your ticket agent."

"I didn't find it necessary.  I paid for a first class seat, Madame."

"You have a coach seat assignment," the flight attendant snickered, tapping insistently on the seat aligned in a large black marker.  "Save your boarding pass, and you'll get a refund for the cost difference."

"I would prefer to sit in first class, where I was booked and ticketed."

"There's nothing I can do about it, sir.  You'll have to take your seat."

Though he did not like to consider himself a picky traveler, Dr. Lecter positively detested coach.  In all the years prior to and following his capture and escape, never had he willfully sat in the constricted, second-rating seats, mainly for he knew the treatment they received.  A few added dollars in this democracy shouldn't take or add anything to the flying experience, but as it was, first-class passengers had the go.  

All things considered, it couldn't be *that* bad.

…Then he saw whom they seated him by.

Approvingly, Del smiled.  "Is this coincidence?  I think so!"

Dr. Lecter denied himself a rumble of disinterest, and quietly took his seat.

They weren't in the air for three minutes before Del turned to him and said, "You never said what sort of doctor you are, Hally!"

"That's Dr. O'Brien.  I'm a psychiatrist."

Nodding, Del muttered, more to himself, "Fabulous.  Isn't that nice?"

Dr. Lecter considered.  It had the potential of being a very long, tedious ride if his neighbor insisted on pushing him with questioning.  There was much to consider, and silence was essential.  Bearing that in mind, he drew in a breath and said as nicely as he could manage, "Hmmm…I don't mean to be rude, however, I am terribly fatigued, and not much of a conversationalist.  Do you mind…?"

The man was already nodding his understanding.  "The last thing I want to be remembered as is an annoying blabbermouth."  A pause.  "You know, nothing grinds my gears worse than some chowder head who doesn't know how to keep his trap shut."  A pause.  "If you catch me running off at the mouth, just give me a poke in the chops."  A conclusive pause as Del knelt forward and reached to undo his shoes.  Dr. Lecter frowned and prepared to be hit with a powerful wave of foul-smelling air.  

Foot released, Del sighed appreciatively.  "Man!  That feels good.  My dogs are barking today."  Then came the sock, and a louder groan.  "Ahh…that feels better!" He proceeded to whip it in the air to get some circulation started.

While he patience was provoked, Dr. Lecter forced himself to calm.  All he had to do was endure this flight, and everything would be worth it.  So very worth it.  

Even if his noisy neighbor insisted on gabbing the entire time, despite the prior issued request, showing him a collection of shower rings, and calling him anything but the requested 'Dr. O'Brien.'

Halfway through the flight, while all the passengers were asleep, Del turned to him and said, with a strangely serious look on his face, "Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing in DC."

Of course he was right.  Instead, the plane made landing in Knoxville due to a storm brewing over the Washington skyline.  More than irritated, Dr. Lecter exited with the horde of dazed, angry, sleepy people, deciding at last to call Starling.  Chances were, he would not make it in that evening, and in following their plans, it was only courteous to tell her waiting up was not necessary.

After a few rings, an audibly weary Starling answered.  "Hello?"

If before there were any lingering doubts that this insufferable journey was not worth the prize, Dr. Lecter rapidly discontinued them.  Merely hearing her voice was compatible to a musical reassurance that the price was nothing in comparison to the reward. "Good evening, Clarice," he replied softly.

"Dr. Lecter?" She jumped to alertness immediately.  In his mind, he etched her leaping out of bed, or off the couch, aching to stand and wake herself to offer him her undivided attention.  "Where are you?  Are you on your way over?  Are you at the airport?  Do you need me to pick you up?"

Her eagerness excited him to no extent.  How he despised disappointing her, though on a level, this prolonged anticipation might do them good when he arrived.  "No, I'm afraid not," he reported regretfully. "The weather seems to disagree with us, Clarice.  The plane could not land in Washington."

A short pause, followed by her tone in obvious disappointment that only succeeded in further pleasing him.  "I see.  Where are you now?"

"Knoxville, Tennessee."

At that, she chuckled.  "Tennessee," came the dry echo.

"Hmm…yes.  Any situation that befalls us, Clarice, is certainly not without its irony.  This is no exception."

"I'm seeing that."

"You know I would be there if I could."

He could see her smile, and the image excited him.  A breath of exhilaration was released before she answered slowly, "Yes…"

"Good.  I doubt I will catch a flight this evening, however, I will continue to persist."

"All right.  See you soon, Dr. Lecter."

"Please, Clarice.  Hannibal."

Ahh, there was that smile again.  Almost preferable to the real article.  Almost.  "Hannibal," she repeated before hanging up.  The sound of his given name on her tongue was liberating, so much to the point that he momentarily forgot his location and all that had caused him a degree of annoyance in the past few hours.

Then Del approached and the image shattered.

"Problems on the home front?" he asked innocently.

Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed.  He simply couldn't tolerate a person who stuck their nose uninvitingly in others' business, even if the allegation was false.  "I don't believe that's any of your concern," he replied.

"I gotta motto," the man announced as though he had not heard him.  "Like your work, love your wife.  Was that your wife you were talking to?"

Instead of countering with another observation of his overly curious mind, Dr. Lecter decided to avert topics.  "How is the flight situation?"

"Simple.  There isn't one.  There ain't a day's wake in hell chance we're getting outta here before tomorrow.  If even then.  Storm doesn't look too good.  And…" Del seemed to consider.  "By this time, I think you'd have more of a chance finding a three-legged auto-repairman than a hotel room."

Dr. Lecter blinked.  This could not be happening.  "You're saying I could be stuck in Knoxville?"

"I'm saying you *are* stuck in Knoxville.  Did you try to book a room yet?"

"No.  I hadn't intended to.  It is essential that I get on the first available plane."

A frown of disapproval and Del shook his head.  "That's no good.  Listen, I got reservations at this place across town.  I know the owner.  I sold him shower curtain rings a few years back.  I can try to get you a deal, if you pick up the cab fare."

Shaking his head, Dr. Lecter waved a hand to indicate it wasn't necessary.  "It's very kind of you to offer, and for that, you have my thanks, but…" Then his eyes wavered and landed on a man sleeping in the walkway, curled defensively in the fetal position, no doubt awaiting word on his flight.  Though the doctor wasn't one for rapid changes of mind, the sight provoked him to sway in the other direction.  Nodding slowly, he offered a kind smile, a sight that frightened some, and reestablished eye contact.  "Yes, yes.  That would be nice."

Del grinned enthusiastically.  "Excellent!  Here; gimme a hand with this, would you?" He indicated with a nod to his large trunk, decoratively covered with various stickers to highlight his travels.  It was loud and obnoxious, and Dr. Lecter avoided the temptation to hide his face in humiliation in being seen in association with such a chest.

Nevertheless, he obliged and kindly claimed one end.

The cab ride to the Baymont motel was over-pronounced, loud, and frankly uncouth.  Jerking from one side of the road to the other, filled with the atmosphere of stereotypical sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll.  Dr. Lecter caressed his brow, overwhelmed with a spontaneous and uncharacteristic headache at the violent motion.  However, he did not comment or complain.  Instead, he reminded himself repeatedly that this was for Starling, and similarly, his sense of tolerance elevated.

This experience was potentially beneficial for reacquainting himself with rural America.  Had he not trusted Del's presumably accurate assumption that every inn was booked for the evening, he would have cheated himself this liberating trial.

It was moments like this that reminded him of the remuneration of wealth.

A short, stoutly man with a nametag identifying him whimsically as 'Gus' awaited on the other side of the counter.  Dr. Lecter saw him through the outer windows as he provided the tab for the cab ride.  

He heard Del's exchange with the owner before entering the establishment.  It wasn't often he regretted his prominent senses, but the man's voice, despite the doctor's infallible patience, was wearing on his nerves.

"How you doin', Del?" Gus was asking as Lecter entered.

"Still a million bucks short of being a millionaire," returned the bear of a man warmly.  "Say, could you set up ole Doc here with a room?  Plane's delayed until tomorrow at the very least, and I told 'em…"

"Got a credit card?" Gus asked, directing his gaze to Dr. Lecter.  If any notice was taken at his darkened eyes at being addressed as 'ole Doc,' it wasn't made obvious.

"Will cash do?" he asked softly, not wanting to leave a possible trail, however unlikely it was that his sources would be discovered as counterfeit.

"Fine, fine, just fine." Gus redirected his attention to the register and rang up the total.  "You boys are lucky here, t'night.  Last room in the bunch."

The words hung over them like a pregnant cloud.  Dr. Lecter allowed himself an internal groan.

…but that wasn't the worst part.

Upon entering the room, term used lightly, the doctor and Del found themselves confronted with a single bed.

Slowly, Lecter looked to his current, however unfortunate travel companion, and a frown creased his brow.  No words were traded.

There were certain things in life that Dr. Lecter blatantly refused to do.  Sleeping on the floor of an untidy motel was one of them, but likewise, so was sharing a bed with a male that was not relative.  This, naturally, arose a problem.  The doctor did not want to suggest Del sleep on the floor, but it seemed fair, given his willingness to provide monetary supplicants on both the cab ride and the room itself.

"Do you want to take a shower?" Del asked.

"No," Lecter sniped, suddenly defensive.

They locked eyes, and the larger man began chuckling nervously.  "No!  Not together, of course.  Not together.  I mean do you want to go first?"

"Ah.  Yes.  Thank you."  The thought of showering in this distasteful place was not attractive.  However, the plane ride spent in the discomfort of roach left him feeling groggy and unclean.  It was better than nothing.

Predictably, halfway through his shower, the annoyingly temperate water abruptly ceased flow.  Lecter growled his frustration, blinking and pushing the curtain back (supported by a collection of Del's shower rings).  When he looked into the bathroom, he felt a strong surge of irritation.  Every towel available was used, soaked, wadded up and thrown randomly, bunched up against tiles and walls, in and over the sink.  Lecter was overwhelmed with the impulse to simply end Del's life, save them both the misery, but forced himself to calm.  A murder would do nothing but provoke unwanted attention, and despite his annoyingly noticeable flaws, Del was doing his best to be of assistance.

Glancing to the towel rack, Lecter saw he was mistaken.  There was one, tiny washcloth at his disposal.  Hmm.  How very thoughtful of Del!  Arching an eyebrow, he shrugged and stepped forward, taking the flimsy material in his hands before applying it to wet skin.

An array of reprimands were on his tongue as he stepped out of the bathroom, adorned in one of his high-quality robes.  Despite his questionable surroundings, he was determined to maintain that air of dignity.

Del had presumptuously claimed the bed, leaving enough room for him, evidently under the assumption that sharing it was a tolerable alternative.

"You didn't spare me a towel," Lecter observed casually, moving to seize a pillow.  He set himself up at the table/chair combination by the window, resorting to the spare blankets stored in the closet.

"Yeah.  Had an accident.  There was a lot to dry."

"Hmmm…"

"Sleeping on the floor?  I would…but I have a bad back."

"Yes.  I'm sure.  Very well.  Goodnight."  Set up now, Dr. Lecter cast a blanket over his lap and propped the pillow behind him.  He felt Del's gaze lingering for a minute as he sent himself into a fake slumber.

The night was not without its annoyances.  Prior to succumbing to rest, Del felt compelled to vocally clear his sinuses and methodically pop knuckles on each hand.  He exercised creaks from his neck, and resumed loud breathing routines.

After an hour, Lecter his control snap.  In a forage of sudden movements, he jumped to his feet, considered the dazed man as he sat up, and forced himself to the door before ending the problem for good.

"Where are you going?" Del asked, though audibly aware of the source of Lecter's irritation.  "If I don't clear my sinuses, I'll snore all night.  I have allergies!"

"Amongst other things," the doctor retorted, tone controlled though strained, eyes flaring.  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Griffith, but permit me to observe.  You are quite the walking health hazard, aren't you?  One of those miserable characters convinced a gray cloud is cast over your dismal life.  I am a very tolerant man; more so than others credit.  However, I simply cannot abide this childish behavior any longer."

"Hey…just wait a second there…"

However, the doctor was determined to say this, observe him as he observed Starling so many years ago.  To make him hurt, even through the kindness exhibited.  There was only so much a man could take, despite generosity. "Your happy-go-lucky outlook on life has led me to several conclusions, Del.  Would you like to hear them?  You were mocked constantly as a child, weren't you?  You repressed yourself by exercising the very opposite of what you saw, an admirable state, yes, but you have most definitely crossed that definitive line separating respectable and tolerable.  The scent of cigarettes on your breath leads me to conclude you attempted the habit in a radical motion to be among the popular faces at school, and sadly, once you realized no amount of bad inclinations would ever help you gain acceptance, the addiction was set.  You did not know how to control yourself.  Incidentally, you were discouraged to discover one nasty habit does not out rule another, rather cost you more of your squabbled savings every week.   So you gained and spent, smoking another seven minutes off your life with each drag.  If unattractive exteriors were not enough, you damaged my book, which I admittedly can accept.  Books are replaceable, you see, and I am rather reasonable.  You bore me with your endless stream of pointless anecdotes on the plane, ignoring my vocal requests not be addressed as 'Hal' or 'Doc' or 'Obbie' or whatever nickname strikes you on a whim.  You never noticed my attention averted to the vomit-bag instructions and that I read them through several times, both in English and Spanish.  You claim the only bed available prior to any discussion on the matter, literally ruin the lavatory, and now…" Dr. Lecter's eyes blazed.  "As I said before, I am a sensible fellow, though I must confess, you should consider yourself very fortunate for both the nature of my position and your otherwise formidable hospitality. Which is why I will refrain from further insights.  Goodnight, Mr. Griffith.  It has been a true anti-pleasure."  With that, though his raw instincts pushed him to a complete psychological profile, he shook his head and turned to leave.

Del had sat up, eyes large and brimming with hurt, swelling with perhaps tears at the proximity of the unexpected attack.  It was the natural reaction to being issued the dirty truth, especially by a stranger who couldn't possibly know that much about you.  When he spoke, his voice was low and broken.  "You wanna poke fun at me?  Fine.  Go ahead.  I'm an easy target.  Yeah, I talk too much.  But I like me.  My wife likes me.  Geez, a guy can't even offer anyone help in this world anymore.  I let you come with me and use the room when I knew there wouldn't be any others.  I even let you pay for it so you wouldn't feel bad."

Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed and he chuckled without humor.  "Yes.  You obtained both a costless taxi ride and a free room, and all I request in return is quiet so I might sleep.  How very selfish of me."

"Fine.  Go on then."  Defeated and hurt, Del's shoulders slumped as he retreated to the bed.  Lecter watched him cynically, inwardly comparing him to a pouting toddler.

It was only the knowledge of what awaited him outside that persuaded the doctor to return to his chair.  No further dialogue was exchanged, and a few motionless minutes, both were asleep.

*            *            *


	2. -2-

Early the next morning, Starling's phone rang.  Though it was usually considered an unreasonable hour by neighboring households, she was more than ready, prepared, eager for the call.  

"Hello?" she asked breathlessly.

There was an amused chuckle on the end.  "Good morning, Clarice."

"Doc…Hannibal?  Where are you?"

"Still in Knoxville."

"Did you find a hotel?"

Some hesitation, followed by another chuckle, this one without humor.  "Hmmm…so to speak."

"Huh?  Elaborate."

"Please, Clarice.  Refer to words actually defined in the English vocabulary.  Due to the holiday rush, I was at an out for suitable lodging.  A fellow traveler offered me his room."

A frightened silence followed.  "You didn't kill him did you?  That's all we need!"

"No, Clarice.  I am on my best behavior, I assure you.  The most damage I did was remark on his notably flawed character.  His ego suffered a sufficient blow, but nothing else.  I promise." 

"Then…you roomed with him?"

"Indeed I did."

"You roomed with a strange man over the holiday rush?  Are you out of your mind?"

That statement lent them both pause, and before they knew it, they were laughing together.  As Dr. Lecter reclaimed himself, he commented, "My, my, my, aren't we sounding domestic?"

"Offended?"

"That you're concerned?  Hardly.  Pray, continue this anxiety, Former Agent Starling.  I might add I went to sleep last night, consuming no cold medicine though my feet were reasonably soaked with rainwater."

He smiled as she mimicked a gasp of horror.  "Hannibal Lecter!  You'll catch your death!"

"Do you intend to punish me, Clarice?"

"We'll see."

"I'm looking forward to it," he replied.  "Please, do think of a perverse penalty.  Something with chains and whips is more than acceptable."  Lecter looked up and noted with dark eyes that Del was emerging from the motel bathroom, and that his call should be cut short.  As Starling pieced together an admirable retort, that which he could hardly enjoy given his location, he excused himself, all play escaping his tone, "I'm sorry, Clarice, but it's best that I go.  I'll be there soon."

"Do you promise?"

At that, he smiled again, ignoring Del's obviously unsuccessful attempts to not eavesdrop.  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"I'll have those whips, you know."

"I'm counting on it." 

Del offered to treat him to breakfast that morning.  They vacated the room by eight am.

The diner was cheap and rustic.  Dr. Lecter eyed the so-called food resting greasily on the plates of other customers, and his stomach rumbled with disgust.  However, he decided it was best to tolerate the meal out of courtesy, and perhaps he would be rid of this man for the remainder of the trip.  

"Did you call the airlines?" his companion asked as they sipped hot though questionable coffee.  

"Everything is booked, but they expressed faith that I could get a place on standby."

Del's gaze curbed his irritation.  "If I told you wolverines made good pets, would you believe me?"

In response, the doctor's head lifted and the maroon pupils of his eyes danced.  "Oh they do, my friend, they do.  However, I am not spending Thanksgiving in Knoxville.  There's somewhere of much higher importance."

"Okay.  Not by airplane.  Eighteen hours of air-traffic backed up.  Anyway you slice it, it looks like we're gonna be having our turkey right here."

"Do you have a proposal?  If so, please get to it.  Prefaces, in this instance, are not necessary."

Though visibly hurt, Del nodded and continued.  "Burt Dingon.  Buddy of mine.  Works for the railroad."

"A train?"

"Yeah.  I sold him shower curtain rings.  He owes me a favor."

Ten minutes later, they were waiting outside for their ride to the train station.  It arrived in the form of a coverless pick-up truck, driven by the owner's son.  Gus's daughter-in-law and grandchildren occupied all the interior seats.

These were great links.  Dr. Lecter felt his irritation rising once more, but his thoughts averted to his recent dialogue with Starling, and he reminded himself once more that this was well more than worth it.  

The temperature was below freezing, and Lecter found himself sharing the back of the vehicle with both Del, barrels of hay, and a noisy dog that didn't want to forfeit the doctor's glove as a chew toy.  However, after staring the mutt down, he reclaimed it in a battle of wills.

By the time they all stepped out of the truck, everyone, including the dog, was nearly frozen solid.

At the ticket counter at the train station, Dr. Lecter made all the necessary transactions, so eager by this time to get to Starling that he didn't pause to consider before purchasing Del's ticket for him.  Much to his relief, their seats were more than separated.  They were several cars from each other.

Peace at last.

"They didn't have two together," he reported, emotionless, sparing them both.  "I'm afraid this is goodbye.  It has been a pleasure, Mr. Griffith.  Thank you for your assistance this far."

"Hey, don't mention it, Obbie.  Thanks for the ticket.  Maybe I'll meet you in the bar car?"

"I'm going to get some rest." 

"Sure?"

"Yes."

The man's shoulders slumped and he conceded with some disappointment, "All right."

"Well…it's been interesting."

Del chuckled.  "That's the understatement of the year."  Without a formal farewell, he heaved his trunk up and started for his designated car.  As Dr. Lecter moved to check in, he was followed with, "Hey!  I need your address so's I can pay you back for this ticket!"

Turning to his former traveling companion, the doctor waved his hand and shook his head.  "Del, it was a gift."

"But—"

"A gift."

With a shrug, Del disappeared into the train, and Lecter hurriedly claimed his seat.

He sighed his relief when the train started moving…

…and likewise moaned his aggravation when it broke down ten minutes into the countryside.

People were ordered to evacuate as quickly as possible.  A foray of vacationers trailing across an open field, one of them lugging an abnormally large trunk.  Dr. Lecter felt something relative to sympathy stir within him, and he detested the feeling.  Still, it remained, nagging, until he caught up with Del Griffith and seized the other end of the case in offer of his assistance.

Two miles later, they sat inside an over occupied train station, filled with disgruntled tourists.

"What do you think?" Del questioned.

"I think this is most certainly not my week."

"Well…have you ever traveled by bus before?"

Dr. Lecter rolled his unbelieving eyes in his direction and saw he was serious.

The bus was perhaps more insufferable than the coach seats on the plane, and while he didn't like to live in paranoia, the doctor was waiting for the next disastrous occurrence.  

It didn't come in the form of calamity, however.  At Del's suggestion, a collective sing-along began.  All on the bus participated.  A man toward the front performed a breathtaking rendition of 'Sweet Transvestite,' which succeeded in feeding Lecter entertaining thoughts for later.  When he was in Washington and with Starling…

That was nearly amusing.  The mood, however, was ruined after three courses of the 'Flintstones' theme.  

"I suppose this is the best time to tell you this," Del said once the singing dwindled.  "This bus won't take us all the way to Washington.  We'll get to Denton, Ohio and that's about it."

"That I anticipated," Lecter observed.  

"Any suggestions?"

The doctor arched a brow and eyed him dryly.  "You mean to say you have no contacts or former business associates you have already considered calling on for assistance?"

For a minute, the light behind Del's overly-illuminative eyes dimmed as he tried to decide if it was a valid question or of he was being mocked.  Finally, after a lengthy pause, he replied with some pride, "'Course I do.  I have clients all over the country."

"How impressive," Dr. Lecter retorted boredly.

"Yeah.  Let's see…" He appeared to consider.  "There's Willy-Jack at the hardware store.  And Robbie Peterson at the local inn…and…"

"All right.  Point perceived."

"I suppose whatever it takes to get home."

"Hmm…yes."  At that, the doctor's face brightened, though his smile was grim.  "I haven't spent enough time with my wife…" He said, looking down.  "We have sort of…avoided each other for the past ten years or so."

Del shook his head in expression of his sympathy.  "That's too bad.  I haven't been home in years, myself."

Lecter locked eyes with this man and they shared a long, compassionate look.  For the briefest minute, they saw into each other's souls.  

"You know…" the doctor continued.  "I have come to believe that when we put our heads together…" He looked up to see Del edging forward eagerly, and fought off a chuckle.  "…we've really achieved nothing.  Therefore, I have decided to continue my journey alone."

Something in the other man's eyes fell, a look of unabashed hurt waving over him.  "Oh.  I see.  Well…in that case…I believe I'll be going."

Lecter immediately registered his crestfallen features and knew the man's pride had suffered a damaging blow.  Still, he could feel no pity.  While it was true that he was genuinely grateful for all Del had done in the name of good will toward man, his habits, sayings, stories, sloppily-covered self pity, nauseatingly fake optimistic face, and sheer act of marinating body odor was becoming insulting, tedious.  Gratitude and debts didn't weigh heavily with Lecter, and he felt through the various reimbursements of tickets, taxis, and motel rooms, he owed no obligation.

"Goodbye, Dr. O'Brien," Del said shortly, furiously seizing his trunk (with some difficulty) and moving toward the door.

In retrospect, the next hour or so of Lecter's traveling adventures passed without calamity.  He enjoyed lunch at the nicest bistro he could find, though he didn't spend too much time in scrutiny of the city.  There were reasons he avoided such vacation locations, and this trip, in the very slightest, was further convincing him that his judgment was not failing him in old age.  

He attempted to phone Starling and no one answered.  Though he was not a worrier by nature, their annoying 'so close yet so far' proximity lent him to reason that anything was prone to go wrong at this time.  Bearing that in mind, around two o'clock, he had a taxi drop him off at the airport to rent a car.  He was assigned to space V-5

However, when the bus, noisy, crowded automobile that it was, dropped him off, he found his slot vacant.  

By this time in his escapade, Dr. Lecter had accepted that no aspect of this journey would be made easy.  After all, the fates of the universe, should they exist, had obviously decided he was not worthy of the impending bliss awaiting him in Washington.  Though it was nothing he couldn't have predicted, it still made his nerves tingle with irritation, angst, outrage.

However, such could not be distinguished from his exterior.  The flawless façade of his appearance might have, from a distance, mistaken him for a priest out of the collar.  Instead of cursing his luck, he merely folded his rental agreement and placed it in his overcoat pocket.  Noting with a sigh the van growing smaller by the second, he picked up his belongings and started the long walk back to the airport.

To the skies, he muttered, "You really are tampering with the wrong individual…"

On foot, traveling across slippery concrete, the trip was not a fulfilling one.  He nearly fell three times, and a bus, speeding notably, splashed him with an onslaught of cold rainwater. 

He exchanged the coldness of the November air for the airport, walking directly to the station that read, 'Marathon Car Rental' in the background.  A rosy, plucky middle-aged woman was chatting idly on the phone, ignoring the long line of impatient customers, giggling at her conversationalist.

"…oh gee, Murry, you're a stitch.  I'll do the croissant rolls and you'll do the cranberries.  You know I can't cook."

Dr. Lecter, streaking on his intolerance, cleared his throat politely.

She held up a hand in a quest for silence.  "All right then.  I'll see you tomorrow.  Gobble gobble!"  Breaking into childish giggles, she nodded at the other end before hanging up and finally averting her attention to her customers.  Her eyes immediately registered the disgruntled, dangerous look in the doctor's, and while some of her sunshine faded to twilight, she managed to maintain the irritably cheerful smile.  "Marathon Car Rental, how may I help you?" 

The airport seemed to decrease in heat as Lecter took a few more steps forward, and finally, her smile melted from her face.

"You may start," he replied coldly, "by tending to your duties.  Socializing at work is very bad for business – especially during such an obviously hectic season.    Perhaps I should report you to your manager, hmm?  Secondly, you may desist the badly portrayed radiance of sunshine.  I know as well as you do that this is indeed the last place you're interested in.  Any other day, and I might have tolerated it.  Finally, you may issue me keys to a car that actually waits for its use in the lot, so that I might avoid making another trip down the highway and across the landing strip to deliver the same speech on your impotence." Eyes gleaming with something dangerous, he leaned forward and said with some emphasis. "I. Would. Like. A. Car. Now."

"I don't appreciate the way you're speaking to me," was the notably hurt, meager retort.

"Ah.  But I am a customer, and the customer is always right."

"Can I see your rental agreement?"

It seemed most appropriate, given everything he had endured so far, to reach into his coat and not find the designated paper waiting for him.  Refusing to lose his calm, he concluded he lost it on the way up there, looked at her hard to establish his anger, and finally withdrew.  "I appear to have misplaced it," he said.

The receptionist badly faked distress. "Oh dear."

Dr. Lecter felt his eyes darken.  "Is this a problem?" he spat, venom tingling on his voice.

"No…it's just…" Her pupils became fiery.  "You're fucked."

Fucked…and they had no more cars.

And so it was outside again, advised to refer to yet another taxi service.  Lecter waited in patience, explaining several times he needed a ride to Washington, that across town wouldn't do.  As the rather rude service conductor began bickering the point, a loud, pea green station wagon pulled up to collect its luggage.

Of course, the driver would be the one and only Del Griffith.  Being the overly nice guy that he was, offering a ride was naturally the first thing that rolled off his tongue.

Similarly, being in the position of desperately needing a ride, Lecter could not resist.  

In the car, they drove endlessly, trading off every three hours or so.  No matter where he sat, Del found a way to nag on the doctor's nerves.  From side to side, the man maneuvered the seat, each time producing a creaking noise from the gears that only forewarned of impending doom in its short rental car life.  Closing his eyes momentarily, Lecter growled, "Would you please stop fidgeting?"

"I need to find a good position."

"Find it and still."

"Do you have a bad back?"  He persisted further until finding one to his liking, relaxing for a minute before leaning forward, only to coil back with a sigh.  "Perfect.  I finally find the right position and I can't reach my shoes."

"Leave your footwear on, please."

"I can't relax with them on."

"I really don't care to breathe your foot odor.  Leave the shoes on."

Del's eyes darkened.  "Gee.  It must be swell to be so perfect and odor free.  You have certain things that bother me, but I'm decent enough not to bring it up."

"Oh really?  How uninteresting."

A breath of exasperation coursed through the passenger beside him.  "Well, Obbie, what would make you happy, huh?  Mr. 'I'm Too Good For Anyone Else,' what would make you truly happy?"

"Truly?"

"Truly."

"Silence."

"Done."

And it was silent, until they next traded positions at a gas station.  When the doctor moved to recline and rest, the seat abruptly jerked back, and he felt a groan of exasperation race up his spine.  Without moving, raising his head to study his annoying traveling companion, he lowly accused, "You broke the seat."

"How can you break a car seat?" Del cried defensively.  "It's impossible!"

"You have obviously proven otherwise."  Irritated, he shook his head.  "Why did you do this?" And, as if on cue, the seat shot forward until Lecter's face and the windshield were close enough for a former introduction.

"I'm not going to be put at blame for faulty engineering," Del retorted, tossing him a brief, uninterested glance.  "I don't want to fight." 

And then the doctor was sent back again, landing against the back with a crash.  "It's a bit late for that," he observed.  "But I would appreciate a little shut eye."  Without waiting for a reply, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to his memory palace, watching Starling through the shields of rose-colored glasses.  The image helped put him to ease, and for the first time in hours, Dr. Lecter smiled.

Whether or not he truly slept was debatable.  Distantly, he heard the 'Mess Around' playing on the car radio, and movement from the driver's seat alerted him to bad car dancing.  The scent of cigarette smoke permeating from Del's mouth was nothing he wasn't accustomed to, and a swerve in the road here in there, given the distracted state of their driver was expected.  However irritated he was, Lecter didn't worry.  On Thanksgiving eve, at this hour, the highway was relatively vacant of travelers.  Everyone had long since arrived where they needed to be.

The scent of the cigarette seemed to pass overhead, and Del started fidgeting with his jacket.  In the layered depths of his memory palace, the doctor was enjoying a proper evening with Starling, and would not be disturbed.

It wasn't until two loud, distinguishable squeals sparked from either side of the car that Dr. Lecter shot awake.  He was in time to watch two semi-trucks fire passed them, and realized instantly what had occurred.  

They were on the wrong side of the highway.  

From the top of the roof, Del's trunk shot and scraped against the highway at the impact of screeching brakes.  

Once the car was at a complete stop, Dr. Lecter shared a long, cold look with the driver before calmly moving to step into the night and study the damage.  

Del's optimistic, "This isn't so bad.  I expected a lot worse," didn't dismiss the notably scarred, burnt streak that stood out against the bad paint job.  

Then, nervously, the man began chuckling.  "Wow!  That was close.  Heh heh heh.  Yeah.  We can laugh about that.  Whoo!"  He saw his humor was not uplifting the situation, and his smile faded.  "Yeah, we should get my stuff off the road."

Irritation didn't begin to describe the wealth of swelling negativity that swarmed within the doctor.  It didn't help that a few minutes later, as they wordlessly moved to scoot the trunk out of the road and stopped to sit, that he became aware of a crackling heat from behind.  Lecter closed his eyes, registering the worn scent of cigarette and knew what happened.  They took turns glancing back to the car before the madman gave way, and finally started laughing.  

His chuckles were infectious.  Soon, they were both laughing, hard, in the middle of the November night while their only method of transportation was sacrificed to an inferno.

"As you sew, so shall you reap," Lecter observed.  "You finally did it to yourself, didn't you?"  He began laughing a little harder.  "One of your mistakes finally cost you.  Imagine returning that to Marathon Car Rental."  A few more chuckles.  "How could you rent it to begin with, without a credit card?"

"I sold the guy behind the counter shower curtain rings!" Del cracked, keeling over.

That put a cease to everything.  Slowly, Lecter turned to him, eyes cold.  And the façade dropped again.  The laughs diminished as though they never were, and he remarked, "You cannot rent a car with shower curtain rings."

An embarrassing silence followed, leaving him to conclude everything on his own terms.  Not for the first time, Lecter was tempted to allow his Harpy slide from his sleeve and end the whelp's life for the misery caused.  Over and over again…this was simply the last straw.  

"Ummm…" Del explained slowly.  "Somehow your VISA card…got put in my wallet…and…"

"You signed my name?" he demanded, eyes ablaze.

"I…"

"You stole money from my account and used it to rent that piece of garbage, only to leave me with the damages that you inflicted on it?"  The Harpy quivered in his garments, begging to be released.  It seemed long and overdo.  After all, he had suffered blow after blow.  Everything else was mild and mostly forgivable.  But this…

"Not exactly."

"You did."

"No.  I thought you put it there."

A pause of disbelief as Dr. Lecter registered the authenticity behind the excuse.  This was the genuine reason.  "And exactly *why* would I place it in your wallet?"

Dumbly, Del shrugged.  "Kindness?"

"Kindness.  Kindness!"  Dr. Lecter turned away before the temptation became too great.  "You used my purloined credit card to rent a car that you have destroyed."  Slowly, he glanced back to the burning vehicle.  "You positively had no right.  No grounds.  No validation.  I have a very strong sense of patience, and you have severed it.  Completely.  Several times, actually.  Congratulate yourself, Del Griffith, that's quite an accomplishment."  He looked up, eyes blazing, and marched promptly to him, grasping him by his collar and surprised him by actually lifting him an inch or two off the ground.  "Give it back."

"I can't!" Panic soared behind Del's eyes, and his whiny voice was full of pleading.

"Why?"

"Because…when we stopped to refuel, I put it back in your wallet!"

Lecter's grip constricted briefly before finally loosening.  With a sigh, he regathered his control, tossing a forlorn gaze at the burning car.  "You have drained me of all fundings.  My wallet was in the glove compartment. And yet…" His clinched fists finally relaxed as he neglected to shake the Harpy into grasp.  "I will…restrain myself."  A brief pause, as he considered that despite everything, a killing right now was not the best idea. Not when he was close. "I *must* restrain myself.."

"Wha?"

But Dr. Lecter didn't answer.

When the fire finally quenched, the car was amazingly in more or less one piece.  The doctor slid into the burning, melted driver's seat and steered directly to the nearest inn.  He didn't waste scrutiny with elegance or price.  It simply didn't seem important.

At the front desk, he informed the clerk, "I need *one* room."

From behind, a worried Del muttered, "Are you mad at me?"

Neither he nor the clerk responded.  "I'm going to need a major credit card," the man replied.

"Very well."  Lecter reached for the remains of his wallet and withdrew four small, burnt squares of fabric.  "I have a Masters, VISA, and Diners."

The man traded glances between him and the alleged cards at his disposal.  "Umm.  Those aren't credit cards."

"How astute.  Will cash due?"

"Forty-two fifty."

Without hesitation, Lecter withdrew what cash he had thankfully stored in his pocket with a money clip rather than being resigned to the tarnished, scorched leather.  "I can offer…" he counted.  "Seventeen dollars."

The clerk looked down and shook his head.  "I'm sorry…I can't…"

Lecter's patience flared, and he reminded himself that threatening the man would do little good.  The only vehicle he had to run in was neatly distinguishable.  Instead, he sighed.  "Please.  Have mercy."  It was the closest thing to a plea he had issued since losing his sister as a child.

The clerk looked genuinely sorry as he considered and shook his head.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I don't own the place."

Disenchanted, Lecter sighed once more.  "All right…" Looking down, he unlatched his watch from his wrist and held it into view.  "Seventeen dollars…and a very nice watch."

Transaction made, he took the key and headed to the room.

From behind, he heard the clerk ask Del, "Do you have seventeen dollars and a very nice watch?"

"No I don't. I have…I have two dollars…" replied his obnoxious traveling companion, "and a Casio!"

"Hmmm…" mused the clerk.  "I'm going to have to say…goodnight."

Thus, Del turned in defeat and resigned to the burnt remains of the rental car.  

Inside the silence of his motel room, Dr. Lecter didn't bother to observe the pillows had no chocolate, that there was no minibar, or even a fireplace at the ease of the customers.  All he saw were two beds, both vacant.  The only sounds echoing into the room were the persistent drops of the bathroom sink, and the neighbor's television.  

Peace.

Sadly, his cell receiver was lost to the fire, but Lecter put use to the complimentary phone located on the stand between the beds.  With a sigh, he moved toward it wantonly, picked up, and dialed.

Three rings later; Starling's voice eased his nerves and soothed his agitated soul.  "Hello?"

"Clarice."

"Hannibal!"  Relief was evident on her voice.  She had been worrying.  "Where are you?"

"I'm not quite sure, to be perfectly honest.  I've encountered a bit of bad luck."

"Bad luck?"

"A bad *omen*, of sorts.  Del Griffith, my traveling companion."

"You never got rid of him?"

"We continuously bump into one another." Lecter sighed.  "It is a long and trying story, Clarice.  Remind me to tell it to you when I am up to par."

"When will you be here?"

Ordinarily, he would have poked fun at her audible persistence and impatience, but tonight, it matched his own.  "Who can say?  I dare not jinx myself, as you can understand.  I hope to make it by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving!"

"And I will do my best to attend," he promised, caressing his brow.  "My very best.  Goodnight, Clarice."

"…goodnight, Hannibal."

After hanging up, his eyes wandered reluctantly to the door.  Through the blinds, he could see the outline of Del, waiting in the cold of the car.  Snow fell from the open skies, and his superb hearing detected a monologue of sorts.  Curiosity nagged him, and finally, he stood, moving silently to open the door, where he leaned on the frame and listened.

"Well Marie," the man was saying.  Marie, as Lecter had come to understand, was Del's wife.  "Once again, you're as right as rain.  I am, without a doubt, the biggest pain in the butt to ever come down the pike.  I meet someone whose company I really enjoy…and what do I do?  I go overboard.  I smother his poor soul.  I cause him more trouble than I have a right to.  God, it's been nuts!"  He sighed, and Lecter knew his intentions were noble, that he was perfectly ignorant to the man behind him.  "I wish you were here with me right now," he continued a minute later.  "But I guess that's not gonna happen…"

Peace on earth and all that whatnot.  The doctor inhaled deeply and cast his gaze to the heavens.  "Yes," he muttered, "I do have a death wish."  And slowly, he glanced back to his sole companion and announced, "You know, you're going to freeze to death out there."

Ten minutes later, they were discussing things civilly, both tucked warmly in their separate beds. 

"You know," Del was saying.  "When I'm dead and buried, the only thing I'm going to have to prove I was here is some shower curtain rings that didn't fall down.  Great legacy, huh?"

Dr. Lecter considered, eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling in thought.  He smiled as he drew out Starling's face, the image alone warming him.  "At least," he replied a minute later.  "At the very minimal…you have a woman you love to grow old with."  He paused.  "You love her, don't you?"

There was a meaningful silence from Del, and when he spoke again, his words were delicate and carefully planned.  "Love…love isn't a big enough word to describe what I feel for my wife.  Not a big enough word."

"Hmm.  I share your sentiments, my friend.  At last, we have found something to agree on."

A moment of silence passed.  Both felt oddly released.

"Well…" Lecter said, leaning back as he prepared to rest.  "Allow me to end this conversation simply by observing that you are one unique individual."

Del chuckled at that.  "What is 'unique,' anyway?  Latin for asshole?"

It was perhaps the first time in two days that the doctor found reason to smile without needing to refer to Starling's face.  He even allowed himself a chortle of amusement.  "I'll concede something," he decided a minute later.  "With as much difficulty that this journey has brought me, I'm sure I will one day be able to glance over it fondly and laugh." 

That provoked Del into giggles.  "You think so?"

On that thought, Lecter tittered again.  "I'm laughing already."  The room was swallowed by quiet chuckles.  "Ah…my car is destroyed."

"Wah-was that seat hot or what?"  More laughter.  "I'm afraid to look at my ass.  I think I'll have those griddle marks." 

And that's how they ended it.  Without any finale or need to conclude, diminished to the repressed laughter of their comical adventures.  Feelings confessed and released to their separate households.  And amazingly, wonderfully, Dr. Lecter finally dozed to sleep, long fatigued from the most insufferable day he could remember in recent years.  

*          *          *


	3. -3-

Irony was blissful.

The car's interiors were fried to a crisp, breaking off and chipping in every which direction.  Without a heater, or the protection of a roof, windows, and part of a windshield, traveling was very uncomfortable.  However, they were agitating close to Washington, thus weather bore no affect on Dr. Lecter.

They greeted the day with newfound optimism and certain understanding for one another.  While he would never fully admit that Del Griffith wasn't *that* bad outside the general limitations of clumsiness, sloppiness, and judgment calls, he conceded that there were certainly worse traveling companions available.  In the grand scheme of things, Lecter considered himself fairly lucky.

As for the various adventures themselves, that was another story.  He felt himself stir in aggravation merely considering the sheer stupidity it took to drive on the opposite side of the road, not notice two approaching semi-trucks, and blindly toss a cigarette butt to the backseat.

The seats themselves were sticky, melted, but no longer hot.  In the cold of the night, they had sufficiently chilled.  

Of all the ruined gadgets in the vehicle, the windshield wipers, rearview mirrors, seat controls, air conditioners, turn signals…the one thing that remained unscathed, but stuck relentlessly on 'My County 105.1' was the radio.  Despite the various attempts to shut it off, the Dixie Chicks, Alabama, Trace Adkins, Billy Ray Cyrus, Garth Brooks, Collin Ray, Tammy Wynette, Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, and various others filled the atmosphere with their trite lyrics and annoying country twang.

Inwardly, Dr. Lecter began a:  'She is worth this, she is worth this, she is worth this,' chant.  

There was a ten-minute span where he was both encouraged to 'Stand By Your Man' and informed that some poor girl apparently thought a farmer's tractor was sexy.  If there were ever a time he wanted a gun for self-infliction more, Dr. Lecter was not aware.

So distracting was the music – along with Del's loud, unbridled singing – that the doctor did not consider their speed.  It wasn't until he heard the siren from behind that he growled his frustration.

The last thing he needed right now was attention from the authorities.  Consciously, Lecter seized one of his most prim hats and tucked it over his head, turning to his companion irritably.  "Fantastic, Del.  Just how fast are you going?"

"I can't tell.  The speedometer's melted."

A moment's hesitation, and he knew it was better to pull over than directly defy the law.  Such would only provoke the attention of more authorities.  One cop wasn't too much of a threat.  With a sigh, Lecter instructed firmly, "Pull over."

The patrol officer was stereotypical for old western flicks.  Long, over-pronounced strides to the vehicle, allegedly to encourage fear to shiver up the assailants' spines.  While Del was not overly concerned, the doctor coached him to remain casual about things.  As if it was perfectly normal to escort a charred vehicle down a major highway.  

Upon closing the distance between cars, the cop leered forward and removed his sunglasses.  Flashing a winning smile, Dr. Lecter greeted, "Good morning."  There was, of course, the implication of brutality in his tone without any effort.  It was natural and unavoidable.  

The desired affect was granted.  In reaction, the officer hesitated a bit, disarmed, however, when Del countered with a jolly, "Heya!  Is there something I can help you with?"

But the cop's attention was successfully distracted by the appearance of the vehicle.  His eyes narrowing in scrutiny and his gaze reflection an astonished reference.  "What the hell you drivin', here?" he sneered.

"Oh, we had a small fire last night," Del replied nonchalantly. "But we caught it in the knick of time."  To further his good nature on the matter, he offered a few chuckles.

"You have any idea how fast you was going?"

Del leaned back.  "Well, funny enough, I was just talking to my friend about this—" He offhandedly motioned to Lecter, "—and it appears our speedometer melted in the fire.  And, as a result, it's hard to say in any degree of accuracy how fast we were going."  During this stunningly civil explanation, he used a variety of gestures to support his statement.  The doctor refused to yield for commentary.

"Seventy eight miles an hour," announced the cop.

Del whistled his reply.  "Seventy eight, huh?  Uh, yeah, sure.  I'll buy that.  You'd know better than us, seeing as we have a melted speedometer here."

Rolling his eyes, a hand came up to caress Lecter's brow.  

"Do you feel this vehicle is safe for highway travel?" was the cop's next question.

"Yes, I do.  I really do," Del replied without much hesitation.  Though he wasn't watching, Lecter felt him nod a few times.  "I believe that.  It's not pretty to look at, I know.  But it'll get you where yah wanna go."

"Now…you have no outside mirror."

"No, we lost that," Del agreed.

"And you have no functioning gauges."

"No, notta one."  A wave indicated the speakers, where country music persisted, despite the awkwardness.  "However, the radio still works.  Funny as that may seem.  It's stuck on one station, though.  And the volume controls aren't cooperating.  But it's really working good.  It's clear as a bell."  He chuckled.  "Don't ask me how."

Regretfully, the cop shook his head and provoked Lecter to look up.  "I can't let you go ahead in this vehicle," he decided.

No.  This couldn't be happening.

"Can't what?" the doctor repeated.  Though it wasn't anything he didn't fully expect, there was a sliver of him that hoped his ears were playing tricks, that he was losing hearing in his old age.  

"No.  Not fit for the road.  The vehicle will be impounded until it's in such a state where it's made capable for safe highway travel."

Panicky, Del raised his arms like a captured criminal.  "Okay officer, I admit it.  I-I broke the law.  I'm really sorry, and it won't happen again.  Not one iota.  But…if you impound my car…I won't be able to get my friend, here, home in time for his Thanksgiving dinner…" 

Though it was a cheap shot, Lecter leaned forward to smile kindly at the officer, hoping to tug on his compassionate strings.

The next thing he knew, they were riding on the back of a tow truck to the nearest town. 

Through it all, Del maintained faith that they could still make it home that day.  It was doubtful, especially with no money, no vehicle, nothing to get them anywhere.  However, just an hour after losing their car, his companion came through.  A large, red Coca-Cola truck pulled up to the sidewalk.  

"This is momentous," Lecter decided.  "I have most certainly seen *everything* now."

Cheerfully, Del stuck his head out the passenger side window.  "Well, our ship has come in!"  He moved to slide outside.

Unbelievingly, the doctor shook his head but offered no words.

With a large smile, Del shrugged.  "It's free and it's nonstop.  Didn't I tell you I was going to get you home?"

Lecter offered a smile in reply.  It was crazy, but what on his journey hadn't been?  Strange as it was, this man had lived up to his word, stopping at nothing to help him get to his goal of ten years.  Something relative to gratitude, genuine gratitude, slithered up his spine, and despite everything, he couldn't ignore it.

"I don't care," he replied.  "As long as the heater is functional."

"Oh.  The driver's a little freaky about letting people ride up front with him."

As if to accentuate this, the driver viciously slammed Del's door closed.

Though he knew the answer to his query well in advance, he asked glumly with the risk of being redundant.  "Well…if we can't sit up there, where are we supposed to ride?"

And so, the back of the truck it was.  The very back, accompanied with cases of coke, diet coke, and assorted other spin-off products.  It was positively freezing, and while bundled up, their speed encouraged him.  

"Beats walkin', huh?" Del chirped, trying to liven their chilling surroundings.  "You know, you're going to be in Washington in less than…an hour.  If we don't have any traffic, and I don't think we should.  It's Thanksgiving."

"Don't say that.  The fates might decide to play with us more."

There was a chuckle, then a long blank pause.  "Oh Geeze Louise…I forgot!  You're going to Richmond!   Ahh, Obes, you shoulda said something!"

"That's perfectly all right, Del.  My party awaits me in Washington."  The last thing he needed was a spur-of-the-moment detour.

"Oh good," was the relieved reply.  "Whewie!  Real good.  I thought I majorly screwed up there."

Offering a wan smile, Lecter turned to establish eye contact.  "No, Del.  You've done just fine."

When the truck stopped, he was half-convinced it was due to a flat tire they couldn't repair, or some other calamity.  However, the driver came around to open the back, announcing, "We're here!" loudly, moving his arm to encourage their evacuation.

No one needed to tell him twice.

Ten minutes later, they were on a familiar Washington sidewalk.  Lecter obtained a taxi – for which he would regrettably pay by asking Starling for money as he was currently flat broke – and he stood next to his traveling companion to say their long overdo goodbyes.

"Can you believe it?" Del asked enthusiastically.

"Well," the doctor offered, "it has been one…interesting trip. But, after all is said and done, you did get me home, and I really appreciate it."

"Hey – next time, let's go first class, huh?"

At that, Lecter chuckled loudly.  "By the Heavens, I hope there is no next time."

"I know what you mean."

There was a moment of silence and they paused to shake hands.  

"It's been great meetin' yah," Del said earnestly.  "It really has.  And…I'm really sorry if I caused you trouble."

"Oh no…you didn't cause me trouble."  In a flash, just their proximity, Lecter was able to forget, forgive, banish all prior grudges.  All urges to kill that, along their trip, seemed unsurpassable.  This man, through thick and thin, did exactly what was promised.  In that, there was no trouble.  "You brought me here. And…a little late."

"Couple days."

"I'm a little wiser, too."

"Me too."

He smiled.  "Happy holidays."

"Same to you.  Happy Thanksgiving!"  Del grinned, almost sadly.  "And give my love to the missus.  Maybe I'll get to meet her someday."

"Hmm…" Lecter mused.  "Be sure to extend my salutations to Marie.  I feel like I know her."

The nod he received to that was almost distracted, but equally friendly.  Then, moving to his cab, the doctor offered one final smile before slipping in to go home.

Perhaps this was the most insufferable part of the trip.  The longest, so to speak.  Home stretch.  He could smell her from here.  Those rewards, the end of a trying journey.  It didn't matter that he lost all his belongings and material fundings.  There were international bank accounts with plenty of compensation.  All he saw was her face.

Then he began reflecting on his recent adventures.  In the cab, he saw a bathroom tarnished and stripped of all but a single washcloth.  At that, he offered a smile, allowing himself that promised laugh.  Again, and the dark sky was ablaze with the rental car, burning in the otherwise silent night.  And once more, viciously cutting Del Griffith down for his annoying nocturnal rituals before succumbing to sleep.

_("…I like me.  My wife likes me.")_

That sentence replayed for some reason, sticking out in his constantly over-analyzing head.  Bothered, Lecter tried to shake it off.  

In direct retaliation, he heard himself.  

_("At least, at the very minimal…you have a woman you love to grow old with.")_

No response to that.  Only a nod before he questioned Del's love for his wife.

Pieces started flying together.  Again, he heard himself, and didn't shy from it this time.  Lecter, instead, began scolding himself for not realizing this to begin with.  So enamored was he in returning home and avoiding the urge to cease irritation that he missed something so colossal.  Well, that would be his little secret.

("I haven't spent enough time with my wife…We have sort of…avoided each other for the past ten years or so.")

And Del's reply?

("I haven't been home in years, myself.")

And he knew.

("I haven't been home in years.")

And he tried to avoid it.

("I haven't been home in years.")

Tried to put it out of his mind.

("I haven't been home in years.")

But he couldn't.

When he knew he was almost to Starling's, Lecter tapped the driver on the shoulder and instructed him to turn the car around and return.  

As he suspected, Del was sitting on the side of the street where he left him, resting on that obnoxiously loud trunk of his, chin captured in balled fists and eyes glued to the sidewalk.  

With a sigh, Lecter muttered that he was going to regret this, but approached, nonetheless.

When Del looked up, there was surprise in his eyes, but also understanding.

"Del, what are you doing here?" Lecter asked softly.  "You said you were going home."

With a sigh, the man looked down once, collected himself, then looked back up.  "I…uhhh…I don't have a home," he said.  There was a lengthy pause.  "Marie's been dead for eight years."

And Dr. Lecter, baffled but knowing, nodded his sympathy before glancing downward in silent deliberation.

But he knew, as he knew in returning, what his true objective was.

And so, he helped Del Griffith heave his trunk into the back of the waiting cab that took them both, without interruption, to Starling's duplex.  Outside, they seized each end, as done so many times before, and took the walkway to the front door.  

Outside, Del smiled.  "You are one lucky guy, Dr. O'Brien."

Lecter smiled.  "Yes…I know I am."

"Look…I won't stay long.  I'll just come in and say hi or something."

A disapproving look from the doctor promptly shut him up.  At the front door, they heaved the trunk to the ground, and eagerly, he offered three knocks.

As the front door opened, and he saw the objective of this trip, the reason for suffering through it all, Lecter knew immediately how very worth it everything had been.  Worth it, and then some.  The way her eyes lit up was nearly magical.  He smiled wickedly at her, and seized her in a tight embrace before any words could be exchanged.

With his mouth beside her ear, he whispered hurriedly, "You are certainly a sight for very sore eyes.  Oh, and address me as Haller for a bit."  With more than some reluctance, he pulled away and stepped aside.  "My dear, I would like you to meet a friend of mine."

Starling, more than taken aback, was flushed in a dozen shades.  For long seconds, her eyes didn't leave his, but when they did, she gazed at the man that had caused him so much trouble, yet likewise brought him here in one piece – more or less.  And with a smile, she greeted warmly,  "Hello, Mr. Griffith."

"Hello, Mrs. O'Brien," he replied with the same charisma.  

"Mmm…Clarice," Lecter said a minute later.  "I hate to be a bother but…we seem to be in something of a financial downfall.  Do you have fundings for Mr. Griffith to compensate our cab driver with?"

"Certainly."  Not a beat of hesitation.

As he left to make the payment, Lecter and Starling embraced again, holding each other in the delayed minutes of a very overdo reunion.  A long, satisfying kiss was shared, far beyond that which he delivered and received in the months of long ago.

"Mmm…why did you bring him?" she asked.  "I suppose I'll have to put the whips away for now."

"Oh bother," the doctor replied disappointedly.  "Well, it appears his wife, Marie, has been deceased for nearly a decade.  I decided that his assistance, however aggravating, in getting me here was worth at least supper with friends.  But no worry, my love."  He kissed her nose.  "I will give him directions and funding for a very nice resort tonight."

"You will, eh?"

"I hardly lost *all* money on that trip, Clarice.  Perhaps everything I had on me, but not all."  He chuckled.  "It was the most difficult time I had ever encountered with travel."

"Well…" Starling appeared to consider.  "I'm glad you brought him."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really.  It just proves a point."  When she moved to embrace him again, she patted lightly above his heart and smiled.  "The Grinch's heart *can* grow three sizes in one day."

Dr. Lecter laughed again, earnestly.  "Wrong holiday."

"Close enough."

And so it was.  Three friends joined by extraordinary circumstances, sitting down to a Thanksgiving meal, sharing woeful and comical tales of various travel adventures.  Laughs were exchanged as they went through several versions of the same tale to find the correct version.  Wine poured and turkey consumed.  In the end, it didn't seem important how any of them came to be there.  Ten years past, two days of unbelievable travel that rivaled anything the doctor had endured, including his years of incarceration.  It was over now.  The finishing end of a long and winding road.  Eyes on the prize.  

Glasses raised, he locked eyes with Starling and winked promisingly, offering a toast to divine intervention. 

Penance.  There's no place like home.  


End file.
